My first story was about a dog that should have died, but wouldn't. I was twenty-two. It...

Gary Webb: [receiving award from his colleagues] My first story was about a dog that should have died, but wouldn't. I was twenty-two. It was a stupid little feature, but I was proud of it. I put it in a frame and hung it on my wall. And believed I joined a secret guild of reporters that day. If there was ever a believer, it was me. My last story was about a police horse in Cupertino, California who died of constipation. Actually, it's not a joke. But to begin with a dog and end with a pile of horseshit, there's a kind of poetry in there, somewhere. But this, this is horseshit. Me being up here. Look, I know I pissed off a lot of people over the years, many of whom are in this room right now. But I think that's what good investigative reporting does. It ruffles feathers. Gary Webb: But I was never fired. And my editors never threw me under the bus. And that's because I never wrote anything until now that really mattered to a lot of people. Mattered in a scary way. I'm not going to take it back. Make nice to save my job. Because I thought my job... [chocking up] Gary Webb: Sorry. I thought my job was to tell the public the truth - the facts, pretty or not - and let the publishing of those facts make a difference in how people look at things. At themselves, at what they stand for. That's shame on me. This is the only thing I ever wanted to do. And for a while, a long while, it was an honor.